


Magic and the Multiverse

by FreyaOdin



Series: Multiverse Cafe [5]
Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multiverse, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:08:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25286602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreyaOdin/pseuds/FreyaOdin
Summary: Scott makes a visit to the Multiverse Cafe and finds both more and less than he hoped for.
Relationships: Mitch Grassi/Scott Hoying
Series: Multiverse Cafe [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1351663
Comments: 12
Kudos: 14





	Magic and the Multiverse

**Author's Note:**

> My sincerest thank you to [lostroses](https://www.wattpad.com/user/lostroses) for the very fruitful beta.

It's busy in the Café this morning, crowded with people eating and chatting over breakfast or brunch. The clink of cups and cutlery is almost deafening as Scott hesitates in the foyer, trying to spot an empty table. The friendly-looking 'Please Seat Yourself' sign is remarkably unhelpful. There's no sign of incoming assistance in the form of a server, and no one even looks up, let alone gulps the last of their coffee to let him have their spot.

He eventually gives up and makes his way to the counter. Even there it's crowded, and he only finds one free stool. He's supposed to be meeting Mitch here in about twenty minutes, so hopefully something with two seats will open up soon. In the meantime, he's tired and sore, so he'll take advantage of the single seat he's found.

Amusingly, the stool is in between two Mitches, although it only takes a quick glance for Scott to be sure neither of them are his own. The one on the right is maybe ten years older than Scott, and staring forlornly into his coffee cup, ignoring everything and everyone around him. Scott's not sure what has him looking so melancholy, but even with his instincts screaming for him to try to cheer him up, he recognizes it as a mood he doesn't want to interrupt.

The other Mitch, the one on the left, is more overtly friendly, smiling a greeting as Scott sits beside him. He's every bit as pretty as Scott's Mitch, but younger, maybe by two or three years.

A frazzled-looking Mario in a pastel uniform, complete with an apron and a pencil tucked behind his ear, plunks a cup of coffee in front of Scott without even slowing down on his way to deliver the huge tray of food in his other hand to a table. Judging by the crowd and the fact that he seems to be the only server in the whole place, Scott has a feeling it'll be awhile before he gets a menu.

That's okay, he's not in a rush. He pours some cream into his coffee and stirs in a sugar cube before taking a sip and mmm, yeah, the coffee is still excellent here. It's so good, in fact, that it's no time at all before he's mourning how small the cup is, having drained it dry.

As the caffeine kicks in, Scott starts feeling more personable, so he turns to examine the friendlier of the Mitches beside him. He's dressed oddly, even for a Mitch. He's wearing...Scott's not even sure how to describe what he's wearing. Some sort of blue V-neck robe thing that goes down past his knees with bright, intricate embroidery all along the collar and edges. It's open at the front, held together with decorative clasps and an intricate silver and gold belt snugged tight around his waist that looks like it should have some sort of sword hanging from it, but doesn't. Heeled, knee-high leather boots, tight black pants, and an open white...tunic?...underneath the longer robe complete the look.

It works for him, but seems more suitable for cosplaying at a renaissance fair than visiting a diner. Or maybe if they were shooting the video for a Loreena McKennitt cover, which Scott can't actually picture any Mitch ever agreeing to do.

Unless maybe it's Halloween in his universe? Scott makes a mental note to look into something similar for next year; it's a flattering look and he's pretty sure he and his own Mitch could pull it off. Maybe they could be matching princes or pirates or something. They'd look hot as fuck and it would inevitably lead to some fun when they got home, too.

Scott's pondering of _that_ scenario ends when the Mitch in front of him twirls his fingers like he's flourishing a flirty lyric on stage, except without any of his tattoos. It's surreal how familiar and foreign things can simultaneously seem in this place, but Scott doesn't have time to dwell on the disconcerting level of déjà vu, because the half-filled coffee cup in front of Mitch forms a whirlpool in its center, just in time for a sugar cube to drop into it from seemingly thin air.

Scott can feel his mouth drop open, but Mitch just nonchalantly waits a moment, maybe to give the sugar time to dissolve, and then picks up the cup and drains it.

"Are you a wizard?" Scott asks, once he can find his voice.

Mitch turns to him, brow furrowed. "A what?"

"A wizard. Like Harry Potter? Or Merlin?"

"What in the name of the Lady is a Harry Potter O'Merlin?" Mitch asks. He cranes his head, presumably to find Waiter Mario, and when he's unsuccessful, waves his hand and makes the coffee carafe disappear from its heat plate behind the counter and reappear right in front of him. "I don't know what a 'wizard' is, so I'm pretty sure I'm not one." He smiles conspiratorially. "You want a refill? Decide fast, because if Kevin catches me having another cup, I'm dead."

Despite the fact that 90% of Scott's brain power is being spent trying to process disappearing and reappearing food items, the only immediate question he comes up is, "Why Kevin?"

"My bloodforce is too high or something. I don't know, and I'd rather not find out. Healers, right?" The carafe floats its way over Scott's cup. "Can't live with 'em, die horribly without 'em."

...Right.

"So," Mitch says. "Coffee?"

His pronunciation of 'coffee' is a little weird -- 'koh-fee' -- but that's currently the least weird thing about him, so Scott decides to ignore it. "Sure."

Scott waves his hand over and around the carafe as it pours, not even sure what he's checking for. Invisible supports, he supposes, but there's nothing. No transparent platforms. No strings or wires. Nothing.

Mitch — Magic Mitch — quirks an eyebrow at him. "Impressed?"

"Uh, yeah." Defying the laws of physics for the sake of a caffeine fix does indeed impress him. "Can you do other stuff?"

"A bit."

Scott doesn't get to ask whether 'a bit' is literal or an understatement, because Magic Mitch leans forward to look past Scott to the Mitch on his other side. "Would you like more in that cup, or are you scrying the secrets of the multiverse in its dregs?"

The other Mitch — Miserable Mitch, Scott decides to label him, because he's original like that — startles. "What?"

Scott leans back so they have a better view of each other, and so he can see them both at the same time.

Meanwhile, the carafe floats past Scott and Magic Mitch asks, "Do you want more koh-fee? Well, it's not really koh-fee, I suppose. Too bitter. But nothing a little extra sugar won't fix. In any case, there are very few problems that can't be made at least slightly better by having some."

The carafe tips without further warning, and Miserable Mitch is forced to jerk back so it pours into his cup instead of all over his hand.

Wow, that pissed him off, and Scott — because he's incapable of doing otherwise — steps in to try to smooth things over. "Hey, are you alright?"

He means the question both specifically about Miserable Mitch's hands, but also more generally about his mood. Except maybe Scott's not the best one to ask, because the Mitch in question takes one look at him and his face crumples back into, well, misery.

Scott didn't think this through. This Mitch is older, maybe 35 or 40. A lot can happen in a decade or more. What if Scott fucked up (will fuck up) so badly it broke (will break) them? As much as he doesn't want to think about the possibility, he's more than capable of fucking up huge given the right circumstances.

Shit, what if his Scott _died_? Surely Mitch wouldn't still be this visibly upset if the accident was worse and killed his Scott like, what? Fifteen years ago for him? But what if something else happened (will happen) more recently?

Scott looks around, grateful not to see his own Mitch anywhere yet. Scott's Mitch has been very clear that he can't handle ever believing Scott is dead again, to the point where Scott's been ordered to outlive him so he never has to. As much as Scott wants to try to comfort this Mitch if he did lose his Scott, he won't subject _his_ Mitch to his worst fear being confirmed right in front of him.

"I ruined everything," Miserable Mitch says into his hands. "He'll never forgive me, and he's right not to."

Oh. So not dead, apparently. Not dead is good. Not dead leaves hope.

He can't imagine much that any Mitch could do that a Scott wouldn't forgive him for. Not long term, anyway. "I'm sure if you apologize and make up for whatever it is you think you did, he'll come around eventually." Then again, maybe that's naive. Scott really knows nothing of their universe or how different their experiences might make them as people. "I mean, unless you tried to murder him or something?"

Miserable Mitch looks horrified by the suggestion, which is reassuring, but Magic Mitch just snorts and says, "Not as much of a deal breaker as you'd think."

Scott turns his head to stare at him. It sounds like something Scott's Mitch would say as a joke, but this Mitch isn't expressing any of the usual tells when he's teasing. No too-focused face with widened eyes. No slightly pursed lips. No nodding along or forced calmness.

Miserable Mitch is staring, too.

For a moment, Magic Mitch doesn't seem to notice; he just frowns into his cup and waves the sugar over, spinning his coffee into a whirlpool again before dropping in two more cubes. Then he looks up and finally seems to realize he's broken the conversation. "I mean, in my defense, he tried to kill me first."

Miserable Mitch opens his mouth, probably to ask any of the obvious follow up questions, but then closes it again. Scott can't blame him.

Magic Mitch looks him over and then cocks an eyebrow. "I've never betrayed him, though. My Scott doesn't handle betrayal well."

Miserable Mitch hesitates, and then says, "Define betrayal?"

Oh. Oh, that does notbode well.

"Cheating, of course," Magic Mitch says, after a moment of thought, raising a finger. "Might be recoverable, depending on the exact circumstances, but Scott wouldn't take it well. Using something he confided in you to damage him." A second finger goes up, then a third. "Throwing something he can't help in his face." Scott's with him so far, all of those seem like things he'd take badly, although most don't sound unforgivable. But then Mitch tilts his head and adds, along with a fourth finger, "And high treason, but I can't technically commit treason against him." He frowns. "Can you?"

 _Treason_? "Is he...is he a king or something?" Scott has to ask.

"Is a king like a wizard?" Magic Mitch asks, not taking his eyes off of Miserable Mitch. "Because if so, probably not.".

Scott has no idea how to answer that.

"No. I mean, my Scott's not...not treasonable," Miserable Mitch responds, finally. "Is that a word?" He waves the question away with a sigh before anyone can answer, not that Scott had planned to. "But I said some things. I was trying to figure out how to get out of a bad...well, it doesn't matter. I needed Scott's support but he didn't pick up on it. He was too focused on someone else to notice and I..." His lips tighten and he looks down into his lap. "I lashed out and said some cruel, unforgivable things about both him and his girlfriend. Well, fiancée."

His...his _what_?

"It was almost two years ago," Miserable Mitch continues, like Scott's not suddenly having the type of sexuality crisis he thought he'd blissfully left behind in high school. "Afterwards he...well. He wouldn't talk to me and even once she was gone, no one else would let me talk to him." He sighs again, clenching his hands and then smoothing his thumb over the first bone in the middle finger of his left hand. Right where Scott's Mitch put their shared skull tattoo. "I ruined the best relationship of my life and I...I don't even really understand why. And now there's this party, and I want...I don't know if I should..."

"Should?" Scott prompts when Miserable Mitch trails off.

"Esther thinks it'd be a mistake," he admits, although Scott doesn't think he's talking to anyone but himself. "But if I don't, I'll never..."

"Never?" Scott prompts again, but it doesn't work this time. Miserable Mitch falls silent, just staring at his hands.

While he stares, another Scott and Mitch pair get up from a nearby table. It wouldn't really be notable -- there are quite a few of them in here today both together and with others -- except for the heat in the looks they're exchanging, and the way the Scott in question is tugging his current Mitch's hand and pulling him along behind him. They head for the back of the restaurant and through the curtains to the private rooms beyond.

Scott's never been back there. It's been described to him: rooms available for those who want a little privacy while here. Scott's curious, of course; he'd happily head back there and see what's available, except his Mitch's response the one time he'd suggested it was "I can get fucked in the comfort of my own bed whenever I like, and we can afford to pay for far nicer options at home if we're looking for variety", and honestly, Scott can't really argue with that.

He's still curious, though, and more than a little turned on by the notion of another version of himself having a clansdestine fuck across universes.

He's distracted from the thought when Miserable Mitch takes a deep breath, his eyes on the curtain the happy couple just disappeared through. He takes one more look at Scott's face, and then plants his hands on the counter to push himself up. "I gotta go."

"Wait!" Scott says. "Did you figure out what you should do?"

But Miserable Mitch doesn't look back. He just walks out of the cafe, leaving Scott staring after him with more questions than answers.

"Try not to worry about it," Magic Mitch advises. "You'll never know, so it won't help."

That seems like good advice, but it's easier said than done.

"But will it help him, do you think?" Scott asks, after a moment. "If he's figured whatever he needs to do?"

Magic Mitch shrugs. "Subconsciously, maybe. I don't know what he'll remember when he goes back, or what it might affect. Everyone's transition seems to be different. And you'd have a better idea on whether forgiveness is possible than I do. You seem to be from more similar places."

Similar places don't really help when the one constant of the multiverse appears to be that Mitch will always be complex as fuck. Still, Miserable Mitch and his Scott have clearly gone through different stresses and focal points than the ones Scott knows, and they seem to have both more and less history together than Scott's familiar with. The reassuring part, however similar their universes, is that they're _not_ him and his Mitch.

Before Scott can think of how to respond, a hand suddenly clamps down on his shoulder.

"If you two are both here," Kevin's friendly voice booms. "Who's watching your tiny demons?"

At least, that's what Scott thinks he says. But 'demons' is weirdly pronounced, and anyway he's busy trying to hide how hard he's having to grit his teeth to keep from yelping.

"They aren't demons," Magic Mitch replies. "Demons _listen_."

Kevin laughs like whatever they're talking about makes sense, but doesn't get a chance to respond because the voice of another Mitch comes from behind them all. "Get. Your hand. Off him."

Ah, fiancé to the rescue. At least, Scott thinks it's him. It's fucking hard to tell in here sometimes.

Kevin pulls back, unfortunately pulling on Scott's shoulder as he does, which doesn't help. He seems to realize Scott's not who he thought he was at the same time Scott registers that he's dressed a lot like Magic Mitch, although he's wearing red rather than navy blue, has an embroidered rather than metal belt, and the shirt he has on underneath his robe thing is closed and showing way less skin.

That last part is kind of a shame.

"My apologies," Kevin says. "I mistook you for the Scott I know."

Scott's already figured that part out, but can appreciate the mistake. What he doesn't appreciate is the friendly shoulder squeeze that comes with it. He should probably be grateful this Kevin is less swole and apparently more sedate than his own, because this would probably hurt even more if he wasn't. It's been almost two years since the car accident, and the surgeons did a great job repairing Scott's shoulder, as did the physiotherapist in getting the muscles around it back into shape. But pain is pain.

"I said stop touching him!" the Mitch behind them snaps.

Scott turns his head to find what is indeed his Mitch, dressed in clothes Scott recognizes, displaying familiar tattoos and the remnants of a few small scars on his face. His hands are on his hips, and he's staring defiantly up at Kevin.

Like always, it gives Scott a warm, fuzzy feeling to know Mitch has his back anytime and anywhere. However, Scott also knows that Magic Mitch, who can, y'know, do _magic_ , is scared of this Kevin, so maybe picking a fight with him is a bad idea. "It's fine, Mitchy."

Mitch glances at him, no doubt taking in the tightness around his mouth and eyes that Scott can never hide from him, and then looks back at Kevin. "It's really not."

Kevin lifts both hands up and away, clearly unsure what he did wrong. He studies Scott's face for a moment, and he seems to see something he understands. He looks down at Scott's shoulder and asks, "May I?"

May he...what? Touch him? Punch him? Kiss him?

If Scott was single, he wouldn't be against that last one if this Kevin's sexuality is more flexible than the one from home, which is apparently a thing that can happen, judging by Miserable Mitch's Scott. Kevin is and always has been a handsome guy.

Huh. Maybe Scevin fallout is what led to Magic Mitch being homicidal and to this Kevin being scary. There's a thought.

Wait. _Healer,_ Magic Mitch had called him. Scott doesn't entirely know what that means, but this is a Kevin, so not only does that mean he's handsome and probably trustworthy, it also means he's going to be very good at whatever it is he does, which apparently involves _healing_.

So he says, "Yes."

Mitch, _his_ Mitch, gives a disbelieving grunt — he doesn't have any context and regardless, he's always less trusting with Scott's health than Scott is — but then Kevin's hands are on his shoulder again, far more gently this time.

There's a few seconds of nothing, and then Kevin's nose wrinkles into a grimace. He puffs out a breath. "I apologize for the pain I caused."

"It's fine," Scott says, because what else is there to say?

"It's not," Mitch says again. He's closer now, alternating between watching Kevin's hands, presumably for any sign of harm, and Scott's face, presumably for any sign of pain.

"No, it's not," Kevin agrees, changing the position of his fingers on Scott's shoulder. He murmurs something Scott can't understand and for a moment, Scott feels nothing. But then there's a warm, tingling sensation that seems to flow between Kevin's hands and through Scott's skin and the muscles underneath. It doesn't hurt. It actually feels kind of good. But it's strange.

"This was healed entirely by mundane means?" Kevin asks after another moment.

Mundane...what? "I don't understand the question."

Magic Mitch is peering around Scott's Mitch, eyes on Scott's shoulder but strangely unfocused. "I don't think magic exists where he's from, or at least no one uses it around him."

Kevin nods. "I wouldn't have thought it possible to fix so much without it. The workarounds they've managed are impressive. We should fund more non-magical research." His hands move again, and the warmth moves with them. Then he looks up to meet Scott's eyes. "Does the remaining damage impact your daily life?"

More than he'd like. "I can do most things. My performances feel less free because I often have to watch how I move. I miss some of the roughhousing I used to be able to give my nieces and nephews." Uncle Jungle Gym Scott still exists, but he's a much tamer version with more rules than he used to be. Speaking of tamer, "I wish..." No. He doesn't know these people. He's not comfortable admitting his other major frustration to strangers, especially not in a crowded restaurant.

"You wish?" Kevin prompts.

Mitch wraps his fingers around Scott's free hand, squeezing lightly. He's familiar with Scott's wish. In fact, he's expressed similar in the past. But since they figured out Scott wasn't going to get back to a place where the wish would come true, he hasn't spoken about it except to reassure Scott that he has all he needs.

"He's in pain," is what Mitch says. "Not every day, but often enough to affect his life."

Scott would like to argue that, but it's true. The pain is obnoxious and wears on him, and he has no doubt that it affects his mood and thus also affects Mitch's. But he honestly doesn't mind it as much as he does his mobility restrictions.

The warmth flowing between Kevin's fingers increases until it's bordering on uncomfortably hot, but then it fades as quickly as it built up, and Kevin removes his hands and backs up a step. "How is that?"

It's at that point that Scott realizes that not only is the pain caused by Kevin's initial squeezing gone, but so is the underlying baseline ache Scott's been feeling since he woke up that morning. He frowns and looks down at his shoulder, cautiously raising and lowering it before making a small circle with his elbow and then a larger one when the first doesn't so much as twinge.

"Wow," is what he says, raising his arm over his head. "How is that possible?"

"Magic," says, well, Magic Mitch, dramatically wiggling the fingers of both hands. Kevin rolls his eyes, but nods in agreement.

Scott's Mitch moves his hand from Scott's own and gently places it on Scott's upper arm, near but not touching his shoulder. "It really doesn't hurt?"

"Not at all," Scott says, still rotating the joint. "It's a bit stiff compared to my other one, but there's no pain or obvious weakness."

It's quite amazing to have the pain gone. Scott really thought of his discomfort as minor, most of the time. Turns out he just hadn't realized quite how much he'd adjusted to its near-constant presence in his life.

"The improvement unfortunately won't follow you into your own universe," Kevin says, looking truly apologetic. "Physical effects don't seem to transfer."

"No, I know." Scott makes a concerted effort to stop playing around with his shoulder. It's just so weird to have it, like, _work_. "Will it still be fixed next time I'm here?"

Kevin frowns. He looks like he's about to say something, but then stops himself. He shares a look with Magic Mitch, who shrugs, and then says. "Honestly, I have no idea."

Fair enough. "This is amazing. Thank you."

Mitch, meanwhile, seems to have been pondering something else entirely. "Would overuse damage anything?" he asks Kevin.

Magic Mitch snorts, but Kevin just shakes his head. "It's as strong as it feels. He's kept the muscles in good shape, so there's no real deterioration that needs to be built back up before he can use them. He won't damage it doing anything a healthy shoulder could do."

Mitch flashes a smile -- a real one, the first he's shown these counterparts of theirs -- and then abruptly says "It's been nice meeting you," and grabs Scott's hand, tugging him up and out of his seat.

What the fuck? "Where are we going?"

Mitch doesn't answer, just pulls Scott away from the counter and starts to weave between tables on his way to...somewhere.

"I haven't eaten yet," Scott protests, but that doesn't slow Mitch down, so Scott's only real choice is to follow. He does glance back for a last wave of thanks, as he stumbles after Mitch, and sees a mystified Kevin and a Magic Mitch whose smirk is threatening to take over his whole face.

Mitch only slows down once on the way towards the back of the Cafe, and only then to avoid bumping into a still-overworked Mario. Still, it's becoming clear he's heading for the curtained private room area, rather than having spotted an empty table or something.

"You've never wanted to come back here before."

Mitch glances back at him with an expression that makes it clear he thinks Scott's ridiculous. "There's never been anything back here I couldn't get at home before."

"What are you even talking abo-- oh," Scott says, finally following Mitch's line of thought as he follows him through the curtain. "Oh!"

"You're hopeless," Mitch informs him, leading him to the first open door they find and pushing him through it.

He's right, of course.

Mitch is also right in that there's not really much to see back here. A hotel-standard queen bed. Beige walls. End tables with inoffensive lamps. A bowl with packs of lube and condoms, although Scott doesn't really understand the point of the latter when nothing here follows anyone home. Familiarity, maybe? Security?

It doesn't matter, because he soon has better things to think about than boring decor and metaphysical redundancy.

Scott always thought that if they got a chance to do this, have a night where he had no mobility issues or discomfort, that Mitch would want him rough and intense. Dominant.

They've played with it, Mitch submitting, obedient yet demanding. Over countertops or restrained on hands and knees or held tight in Scott's lap on Scott's cock. It's great, whenever they play, perfect even. And Mitch has always made it clear that the limits of what Scott can do satisfy him. Thrill him.

But Scott has always figured that if they were given the chance to have no limitations but their own wishes and imaginations, they'd ramp it up. He'd wrestle and manhandle Mitch into position. Pin him down and take everything they both want with feigned force and real submission.

That's not what ends up happening.

Mitch pulls him into a kiss, pulls him out of his clothes. Pulls Scott down, over and on top of him. He's sexy, so very sexy, but Scott slows everything down to test just how much weight his shoulder will bear and for how long.

Kevin said he could manage anything a healthy shoulder could do, but Scott's lost all sense of trust when it comes to his own body. The instinct just is no longer there. And they've tried this before, although it's been maybe five or six months since the last poorly-conceived attempt.

Scott had been having a very good day, the kind that made it seem like anything was possible. And so it had been, for about forty-five seconds before his shoulder had spasmed and Scott, suddenly in a world of pain, had crashed down onto Mitch and almost broken both their noses.

But this time, when Scott pushes himself up, braced on straight arms with his weight through his shoulders and across his back, his shoulder holds. It's amazing. Surreal, almost. Enough so that Scott can feel tears forming, although he doesn't let himself cry. He has this beautiful, remarkable, naked man spread out underneath him, and he needs him so much it hurts, an actual physical ache in his heart and his soul. There's no time to cry.

Mitch smiles up at him, eyes also suspiciously shiny. His hands smooth up Scott's arms, fingers tracing over the taut muscles, right hand spreading out across the spiderweb of scars and the monochrome flowers and vibrant ribbons he finds there.

He explores for a while, before his palms settle on the back of Scott's head, framing his face, and he whispers, "I want you."

How could Scott ever argue with that?

Scott pulls back, reluctantly, but only so he can reach for the lube. Mitch spreads his legs, and licks his lips, and Jesus, Scott has to kiss him. Mitch sighs as Scott teases him, moans as Scott fingers him, arches his back and grabs hold of Scott's shoulders as Scott enters him.

And so here Scott is, once again braced above Mitch, but now he's inside him, driving into him like he never wants to stop. Which he doesn't, because Mitch's hips are rocking up to meet his with every thrust, and there's no one in control of any of this, least of all Scott.

Mitch is watching him, staring at him. Pinning Scott with his gaze even as soft, sensual grunts spill from his lips with each press of their hips. And fuck, those beautiful eyes. Deep and warm in a way Scott doesn't think his own could ever be. He'll never get tired of looking into those eyes.

Scott's not sure he can stand this; the ache in his chest is swelling and he thinks he might burst trying to contain it. He's never felt closer to Mitch, and it has nothing to do with their position and yet it's everything.

Mitch's breath stutters and he tugs Scott down until he's forced to drop onto his elbows instead of his hands, weight still borne across his shoulder blades. And oh, yes, this is even better. This way he can slide his hands under Mitch's back, fingers spread wide across his skin. Cradle him in his arms and absorb some of the force of his thrusts as he drives Mitch harder and faster into the mattress.

"Yesss," Mitch whispers, and Scott kisses him again, swallowing whatever else he means to say. It doesn't matter, Scott can feel everything either of them could possibly say through every part of him. They grasp at each other, stealing one another's breath and growing more lightheaded with every passing moment.

Their rhythm feels instinctual now, no conscious thought, no finesse. Just a steady beat driving them forward. Mitch's legs curl around Scott, urging him on. His fingers clutch at him, one hand clenched on his scarred bicep with none of the discomfort that would normally cause, the other tangled deep in his hair.

A whine starts, high in the back of Mitch's throat, and he shudders. Scott's not sure if it's the angle, or the weight, or the friction, or maybe just the novelty of the whole thing, but something about this is clearly working for Mitch. Which means it's working for Scott too, because fuck, anything that makes Mitch sound like this is _always_ going to do it for Scott.

"Oh God," Mitch moans into Scott's mouth. "I--oh!"

"That's it," Scott agrees, dragging his lips from Mitch's to better be able to see him. "C'mon, that's it."

Mitch shudders again underneath him, breath hitching, hands flexing. " _Scott._ "

There is nothing better in the world, in any world, than making Mitch come. Scott lives for it, whether it's a quick hand job between interviews or a drawn-out scene they've been planning for days. But there's something about this, the simplicity of it. It's the literal definition of vanilla and yet Scott has never felt anything better. He fucks Mitch through it, unable to stop himself from following a heartbeat later, both of them a shaking, gasping, beautiful mess.

They're silent afterwards, trading lazy, open-mouthed kisses, waiting for their hearts to slow down and their muscles to stop trembling.

"Jesus, that was amazing," Scott finally says, nuzzling Mitch's cheek. He's still out of breath and loving everything about that fact.

"Fuck, yes," Mitch replies, equally breathless. "I needed that."

"Yeah?"

"Mmm hmm. Sometimes you just really want your man on top of you, you know?"

Scott does know, and he can have that whenever he wants. But he can't typically provide it. He pulls away a bit, not sure how to respond.

He doesn't get all that vulnerable about his shoulder or scars these days, at least not around Mitch, but a wave of it hits him now. Fuck, he doesn't miss this feeling. Is there an opposite to nostalgia? Because that's what someone should label this.

"No, babe," Mitch rushes to say, apparently reading Scott's mind, or at least his body language. Mitch relaxes the fingers still clenched in Scott's hair and instead smoothes his palm over the back of Scott's neck, pulling Scott's face down to rest against his own. "No. I only wanted it because I could suddenly have it. It'll fuel my spank bank for years. But it's enough. I just want you, however I can have you."

"Yeah?" Scott asks into Mitch's cheek, voice almost as raw as his feelings. Because he might as well add 'needy as fuck' to the whole 'vulnerable' thing while he's hiding his face from the person he loves most in the world, right?

"You're kind of it for me." Mitch says, fingers still caressing Scott's neck. "You get that, right? I _love_ you."

He really is a fucking mindreader. "I love you too."

They stay like that for a long moment, Scott breathing in Mitch's scent, until another thought hits and he has to pull back to look at Mitch's face. "Spank bank? Seriously? Why do fans think _you're_ the classy one?"

Mitch grins. "High fashion and good cheekbones."

"Pretty face, quick wit, eloquent charm," Scott corrects.

"Oooh, compliments!" Mitch's fingers tug at the short hairs on the back of Scott's head. "Tell me more."

"Uh uh." Scott shakes his head. "Not until you feed me. We were supposed to eat like an hour ago."

"You'd think after some of the best sex of our lives, you'd be in a better mood."

"I'm _hungry_."

They disentangle, clean up, get dressed, and head back out to the main Cafe, but it's still packed, and Waiter Mario is still harried, and there isn't a spare seat to be found, let alone two together.

At least, there isn't until there suddenly is. From seemingly out of nowhere, in a space Scott could have sworn didn't exist a moment before, a small booth appears, just big enough for two.

"How'd that happen?" Mitch asks, even as he slides into one side of it.

But Scott just grins. From his angle, he can see something Mitch can't, namely another Mitch smirking at him, cup raised in a toast from the other side of the Cafe. He waves back, and then slides into the other side of the booth.

"Magic."

**Thoughts?**

**Author's Note:**

> Featured in this fic is Mitch from [The Pact, by lostroses](https://www.wattpad.com/story/97111406-the-pact-scomiche-completed%22), as well as Scott and Mitch from my story [Blink](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8035861/chapters/18402868), and Mitch and Kevin from [Blood Lines](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15212720/chapters/35282591). 
> 
> I didn't have a specific couple in mind for the Scott and Mitch who sneak off to the back rooms mid-meal, but they could easily be from either [lostroses' trips to the Multiverse Cafe](https://www.wattpad.com/story/186933016-ptx-multiverse-cafe-adventures), or [KareBearStare's](https://www.wattpad.com/728118211-bits-and-pieces-in-any-%27verse).


End file.
